The measured ticking of the clock echoed in his ears like church bells. Somewhere in the potions laboratory water was dripping. It seemed that he forgot to turn off the tap again. It also seemed that he did not care anymore. It was raining outside. Autumn had arrived once again. She had always waited for the onset of autumn. She collected leaves and made bouquets of herbs later. She would frequently rob his stock of the most valuable ingredients and brought home green apples to leave on the windowsill and let ripen. She watched with fascination as the fog spread out from the mountains. She looked forward to the flowering of the heather when it would be possible to inhale their delicate scent.
Autumn was her favorite season, a whim that he would never understand. He lowered a useless bouquet of yellow leaves on the windowsill, barely touching the raindrops, which left silvery marks on the leaves.
The branches of the trees scraped on the windows frightening her cat to scurry about the rooms. Crookshanks tried, in vain, to find a quiet place where he could hide and wait out the bad weather. Severus was surprised to realize that, unlike the cat, he did not want to look for a safe haven. He was hypnotized by this bad weather, by the fury of the rain, by the storm raging outside.
She wasn't there. Words exploded in his thoughts and echoed deafeningly off the walls. The room seemed to be shrinking, trying to enclose him in a circle of hell.
"Good kids don't make revolutions, Severus," he remembered how she said this phrase with a venomous smile and left to change this indifferent world. None of them cared. Until recently, Severus had placed himself to the same category.
A bottle of whiskey flashed derisively with amber facets in the glow of the dying coals in the fireplace. He thought himself pitiful and helpless. He wanted to break something, obeying a sudden fit of rage, but suddenly her cat came running from the bedroom. Crookshanks jumped up and began to poke his hand with a cold, wet nose.
"What do you want from me, Furball? Go away."
But the cat did not share his irritation, jumping into his lap and nuzzling his cold nose into Severus' neck. Severus and the cat both felt bad at that damned night, and Severus had a feeling that his life was torn to bloody pieces once again.
She was not there, but she was everywhere. The half-read book stolen from his shelf of the most valuable copies, another volume on Dark Curses which she never returned to the Restricted Section of the library, half-eaten crackers, her unfinished cup of coffee. Apricots and heather. That was what he smelt in a brew of Amortentia. Her scent was everywhere. He wanted to run out of the room, to hide from hearing, from seeing, from feeling.
A Muggle photo stood on his desk. Her happy smile, blooming April, yellow dress with polka dots, a stupid hairband. He did not even realize how much he loved her in those minutes. And next to the photo was an official letter from the Ministry.
Hermione Jean Granger Found Dead. Dark Curse. Irreversible magic. Accident.
Pointless words of sympathy. A look full of sorrow. Her outraged:
"My name is Madame Snape now, whether you like it or not!"
She's gone. He seemed to sense her presence even now. He just had to close his eyes and listen carefully. The rain beat against the windows, the silence filled with the echo of her footsteps. She was late for work every morning, rushed through their home, as if mad, stumbling over a cat, and burning her tongue with coffee. Every evening she wandered through the halls, burying her nose in a book. Every now and then, she asked him a hundred questions per second, without waiting for an answer.
Her new toothbrush would remain unopened. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and felt his throat tighten. The stupid Muggle pregnancy test remained in the bathroom. Positive. That morning they had a grandiose fight. He again tried to convince her that the profession of the curse breaker was too dangerous. She stubbornly maintained her own. She wanted to change the world.
"I'll tell you something important tonight if you stop talking nonsense and stop sulking, Severus."
Unbearable impudent minx.
He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, frightening off the calmed cat. They now have one loneliness shared between the two, one pain for two.
He knew Minerva would definitely visit that evening. She would sit next to him, persuade him to carry on, and then, unable to bear his silence and her own grief over the loss of her favorite student, she would leave him alone. At dawn Poppy would visit him, hug him tight with a motherly gesture, cry and give him Dreamless Sleep, and all for the sake of meeting the Potter brat by noon.
The boy had already lost two of his friends and Severus had nothing to say to him.
"How do I live now, Professor Snape-", he would stutter. The head of the Auror Department, Harry James Potter, would smear his tears with his sleeve. Severus couldn't afford such a weakness.
They had only six months, half of which they spent in deafening quarrels and passionate reconciliations.
And in a week the heather was going to bloom...
"If it is a girl, let's call her Eileen Astra. Eileen Astra Snape. I like it," Hermione once said, almost falling asleep on his chest.
"Dear heart... How would I live without you?" Severus muttered almost in a whisper.
The silence of his empty life was his only answer.
Snape threw his head back and laughed like a madman. Until the spasm clenched his throat and he choked on his sobs.
She wasn't there. She would never be there anymore.